


Chance

by midoritakamine



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: ?? it started out as soulmates now it's fuck if I know what to call it, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Identifying Marks - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 23:42:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10604754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midoritakamine/pseuds/midoritakamine
Summary: Alfred has three months to meet somebody and fall in love. Luckily his dog speeds up the process for him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fucking this goes out to you, Juju. I'm sorry it took me so long to write this but here's your RoMerica fic with your sort-of soulmates AU that you mentioned some time ago. I took some liberties with it but I tried ;w;
> 
> Renato is Seborga btw. I know most people use Sebastian but I like Renato for some reason. Also somebody (I forget who because I suck) suggested NorCan as a background pair so I had to throw it in somewhere even though it isn't relevant. I love me some rarepairs.

Alfred always considered himself to be a lucky guy. He was born on his favorite holiday (how much cooler can a birthday party  _ be _ than the entire country blowing shit up in the sky into the wee hours of the morning?), he’s the handsomest of his siblings (though Matthew always complains about this because  _ Alfred, we’re still twins even though our mom had a weird complication that made you three days later than me, so if you’re the handsomest I’m just as handsome _ ), and he gets to go to Disney World every year (he’s nineteen but who says young adults can’t have  _ more _ fun than the six year olds?).

The only place he isn’t lucky is in love.

When he was a young kid, he never really paid any attention to the date on his arm. The date of his twentieth birthday. It’s so far away, he used to figure, so there’s no point in thinking about it. The only thing to look forward to on that day is, obviously, his birthday. Why should he pay attention to the real meaning behind the date? Hell, the real meaning behind the date on his arm  _ should _ be that it’s his 20th birthday. That’s the most important thing about it. Everything else can take a backseat.

Now, three months from his twentieth birthday, Alfred pays very close attention to the meaning behind the date.

He ends up staring at his arm at the crosswalk. His dog Cap tugs at the leash, eager to continue their walk. Alfred doesn’t even notice, face twisting and contorting as he thinks. Three months. He has three months until it happens. Why does he get three months, to age twenty? Matthew has until his thirtieth birthday, not that he needs it; he actually met somebody last winter in an Ontario park. A weird guy, always talking to some imaginary troll over his shoulder in monotone. Then again, Matthew always did like to pretend their pet dogs growing up were polar bears. Maybe a troll-seer fits his brother perfectly.

Matthew. The cranks inside his head come to a standstill, rusted from bitterness. He’s the coolest member of the family, the handsomest, so why does thinking about his brother make him so irritated? Matthew was always, and still is their eldest brother’s favorite. If Francis went to do something, Matthew went with him. Maybe bitterness about coming second in Francis’ eyes makes him feel so angry. Well, angry is a bit of a stretch. He’s more bothered about not being acknowledged as the best sibling than anything, but then again he was (and is) Arthur’s favorite of the two. He shouldn’t complain; Matthew probably feels this exact same way towards him when it comes to Arthur’s attention.

Alfred is abruptly taken from his thoughts when Cap pulls the end of the leash out of his hand and the dog takes off running. Yelling, Alfred takes off in a sprint after the golden retriever. It's incredibly fast, much too fast for him to keep up, and he feels all hopes of catching it slip. He shakes his head mid-run and scowls; he’s not a quitter. He’ll catch Cap before anything tragic happens. That’s what he always does. He saves the day and prevents tragedy.

He groans aloud, calling Cap’s name along with a few “Stop!”s and “Hang on!”s for good measure. Because he isn’t watching his step, his foot catches an uneven layer of sidewalk and within a second concrete meets the palms of his hands and he hisses, gravel digging into the opened skin. He doesn’t have time to lick his wounds because when he looks up, he sees Cap is now even further away. With a whine, Alfred scrambles to his feet and takes off in another sprint after his dog.

Unfortunately for him, he loses sight of Cap within a few blocks. He rests his injured hands on his knees, panting. His shoulder presses against the chainlink fence to his right, disappointment and worry pooling in his gut. How can he hope to find Cap now? He knows he shouldn’t give up immediately, but the pulsating pain in his bloodied hands  as well as his wounded pride at the dog even escaping his grasp makes his determination sour. He grumbles, swearing a bit louder than he intended.

“Oi, watch ya fuckin’ mouth!”

Alfred jumps and looks up and to the right. Over the chainlink fence, a sour-faced man with tan skin is scowling at him. His arms are crossed and based on the general vibe he’s giving off, he seems to be the constantly angry type. Alfred raises a hand and pants a few more times before his voice returns to him. “Ah… sorry about that. I just- my dog ran by here and-”

The stranger’s brows raise and the scowl disappears. “Oh, that mutt yours? Stay there- Feli!” The man looks over his shoulder and yells into the house in a different language, presumably something romance-based. He grew up bilingual in French and English, and in school Alfred only took the minimum-required two years of Spanish. If that’s the language the mystery man is speaking, he mentally flunks himself on not being able to understand it. Maybe he should call Francis’ friend and ask for lessons sometime.

He has no time to ponder his linguistics because a few seconds pass before the front door to the modest two-story house opens and a man that looks remarkably similar to the one on the porch steps out. In his hands is a leash connected to an incredibly familiar animal. Alfred grins and swings around the fence, calling, “Cap! Oh jeez, thank you so much for catchin’ him!”

The man holding the leash smiles sweetly, but he doesn’t speak. Instead, the one on the porch steps down and walks up beside whom Alfred guesses is his brother. The darker-skinned man is shorter, so presumably he’s the younger one. When Alfred reaches for the leash, the shorter one winces and grabs his wrist, stopping him.

When he speaks, it’s in the same agitated tone as before. “Hey genius, don’t grab shit when your hands is all busted. Do you want an infection? I sure as hell aren’t gonna take care for ya.” Alfred tilts his head but otherwise doesn’t comment on the improper English. “What, your ears not workin’? Follow. Feli, take his dog to the back.” He turns on his heel and hops up the steps to the front door. The taller man, Feli, offers him a small grin and gently pulls Cap alongside him and through the door. Alfred looks over his shoulder back to the street. Matthew and Arthur always told him not to go running into strange houses, but Matthew and Arthur aren’t here.  _ And _ Matthew and Arthur  _ suck _ . So he ignores their repeated advice and follows the two brothers into their house.

Besides, Francis always told him to believe in the good-natured heart of strangers. Matthew and Arthur can suck eggs this round.

It’s a quaint little place and despite its two stories, the home feels much smaller than Alfred’s apartment. His eyes roam curiously all over the living room, noting the mess of clothes strewn about and the smell of tomato sauce wafting from the kitchen. His stomach flips in anticipation of a meal, but the darker-skinned brother is standing at the bottom of the stairs and looking at him expectantly. Alfred shuffles around the couch and towards the stairs, following behind him. The stairs creak under their weight, and by the time they reach the top an elderly man is peering out from a door.

“Lovino?” he asks. The stranger in front of Alfred, Lovino based on the reaction, stops and looks up in response. Deep amber eyes settle on Alfred and he coughs nervously under the gaze, but he maintains his sunny smile. Whatever the elder man says next is in the same language spoken earlier, and Alfred can’t understand what the two are saying now. They don’t seem angry, or at least the Lovino guy doesn’t seem any angrier than he already proves himself to be usually. With that in mind, he relaxes and tunes them out, instead examining the walls.

Lovino, Feli, and the elder man are in photos hung along the wall as well as a third man who, while he looks similar to the two young men he’s met so far, is much younger, probably in his mid-teens. Along with the family photos, a few images of famous landmarks from some country line the walls, and after glimpsing a flag in one image, Alfred concludes that those landmarks as well as the people he’s interacting with are Italian.

Or is that the Mexican flag…?

He doesn’t have time to ponder the differences in the flags because Lovino elbows him in the side and gestures to a door further down the hall. He doesn’t wait for Alfred, and instead ducks into the room without a second glance. Alfred looks at the older man, who offers him a smile and an accented, “Hello.” He returns the greeting with his own enthusiastic one and half-sprints after Lovino.

The bathroom is moderately-sized, enough for Alfred and Lovino to stand a comfortable distance apart while the latter fishes bandaging and disinfectant from the cabinet. Two gloves dangle from Lovino’s mouth so instead of speaking, he jerks his head to indicate to Alfred he should sit somewhere. Alfred, in his infinite wisdom, scoots on top of the counter and effectively eliminates any comfortable distance between them. Lovino deadpans at him, his shoulder brushing against Alfred’s thigh, but the expression’s annoyance is lost by how funny he looks with gloves in his mouth.

“You’re an idiot,” is the first thing out of his mouth after he puts the gloves on. Alfred only smiles in return and nods. He’s heard this song a million times from his brothers so hearing it sung again by somebody new isn’t any bother; in fact, he’s embraced the label. Why yes, he  _ is _ the stupid one of this family! Besides, if he lets everything strangers say get to him, it wouldn’t make for a very fun life. What non-strangers, especially what  _ Matthew _ says, on the other hand…

Lovino eyeballs him for the strange response before he sighs and shakes his head. He does half-smile and mutter something in Italian. The only words Alfred catches are the man’s brother’s name, Feli and something that sounds similar to stupid. He edits the mental note from earlier to ask Francis’ friend not just for Spanish lessons, but for somebody who can give him Italian lessons as well. Maybe then he can fully appreciate the compliment Lovino totally just gave him.

The cleaning alcohol burns, but Alfred keeps a straight face. This too is very familiar to him, getting injured and being patched up by somebody else. More often than not he would wind up doing something his brothers tell him not to, and wind up injured, and wind up listening to them lecture him on not doing stupid things lest he gets hurt again, and finally he would wind up not listening to their advice and the cycle would repeat itself.

He’s almost too lost in thought that when Lovino reaches across him and grabs his other hand to clean, he almost misses the label on his arm. Almost. A familiar date stares back at him and impulsively he shouts in surprise and grabs Lovino’s wrist. This doesn’t sit well with Lovino, who snaps, “The hell are you doing to me?!”

Alfred eagerly points at the date on his arm. “This date!” he shouts. Lovino glances at it and blanches, scowling at his arm as he yanks it away from Alfred. He doesn’t attempt to grab him again, instead he rolls up his sleeve just enough to show off his own date. “They match!” Lovino crosses his arms, hiding the date on his against his chest as he studies the off-white tile wall in an attempt to ignore Alfred.

“Doesn’t matter,” Lovino finally says. He turns back to Alfred and none-too-gently grabs the wrist of his injured hand and presses the alcohol-soaked gauze against it. The sudden pain distracts Alfred and he yelps. This doesn’t phase Lovino, instead he seems more pleased by Alfred shutting up. This hand he works over in a more tense silence and once he’s finished, he wordlessly puts the materials back in the medicine cabinet. Alfred scoots off the counter and tries to catch Lovino’s eye, but the other man puts up a conscious effort to avoid his gaze.

“What’s up?” Alfred asks. “You got all quiet after I mentioned the date-”

“I don’t care about the date, or what it means.” Lovino looks back at Alfred when he continues. “I don’t like the universe game, deciding what love is to be and when it to be found. Grandpa always told me and Feli growing up that love can’t be forced. This date system in the world is forced and I don’t enjoy. If I find love, I find it in my own time, not by a date on body.”

Alfred leans against the counter and debates Lovino’s words mentally. What he says makes perfect sense, and yet… “But if you don’t find somebody and fall in love by that date, you’re never gonna love anybody. Don’t you want that?”

Lovino’s lips twist in thought. “... I want relationship on my own terms, not dictated by outside forces.”

“But if you don’t love anybody by the date, you lose your ability to ever find somebody-”

“If I don’t find love in own terms by the date,” Lovino interrupts with a hint of bitterness, “I don’t love. Simple as that. Why are you so curious? You are stranger and don’t know me.”

“I like to think after you saved my dog and patched my hands up, I know you decently enough. Heck, you’re a friend!” Alfred laughs loudly and misses the surprise on Lovino’s face at the word friend. He extends a hand and grins. “If you still consider us strangers, let’s do this. Nice to meet ya, Lovino! My name is Alfred. I’m nineteen, I have three older brothers, and my favorite food is a combo meal with a large shake.”

Lovino narrows his eyes and studies Alfred’s hand, as if it’s going to bite him. He heaves a sigh before he grabs it and shakes it. “My name Lovino. I am twenty-two. My brother Feliciano nineteen as well, and I enjoy home-cook pizza. None of this delivery bullshit America pass off as delicious and authentic. You don’t know meaning of the word.” Alfred’s hand tightens on Lovino’s and he shakes it enthusiastically. Lovino gapes and complains at the vigor, but beneath his complaints a smile drifts to his face as he looks at Alfred’s grin.

Alfred, too busy laughing, doesn’t take notice.

* * *

From now on, Alfred diverts his usual dog walking route in order to pass by Lovino and Feli. Cap doesn’t seem to mind, and his dog often begins to pull him eagerly towards the house whenever they turn the corner it sits on. Lovino complains, Feli smiles but doesn’t speak, and occasionally their grandfather sits on the porch and offers Alfred a friendly wave and smile. As far as he’s concerned, Alfred has three new friends.

After a few trips, he learns a bit more about the family. Today, he sits in their dining room to have lunch with all three of them. Cap lazes happily on a body-sized pillow in the living room as Alfred chats happily to his newfound friends. Curiosity gets the better of him and, given he’s never been the most delicate of people, he looks at Feli and asks, “Why don’t you speak?”

Feli shoots a helpless look at Lovino. He blows airs through his nose and says something in Italian, presumably a translation of what Alfred asked. That’s when it dawns of Alfred. Before he can guess, Lovino says, “No, he don’t know English. He know enough to get ‘round the city, but he not comfortable speaking it with fluent person such as you.” While Lovino explains, Feli smiles timidly and half-shrugs.

“Sorry, Alfred?” He phrases it questioningly, apparently worried he got the word wrong. Alfred just laughs and waves a hand.

“S’cool! I don’t mind or take any offense. English is hard, my dude. I speak it and sometimes I don’t even get it right, or mix it up with French.”

“French?” The brothers’ grandfather leans forward.

Alfred nods. “Grew up bilingual. One of my older brothers was born in France, and our mom lives there still. We spend summers over in Europe a lot, and one summer we visited England where my mom had another kid.” He smiles sheepishly and avoids eye contact. “We’re all half-brothers though. All from different fathers except me an’ Matthew. We’re twins. What about you guys?”

Lovino’s mid-translation to Feli, so their grandfather speaks instead. “We lived in Italy for very long time. The boys along with their younger cousin. I moved to America a long time ago in search of work. The boys’ parents and uncle,” his face turns downcast, “well, they die. It’s an incident I rather not discuss because it’s very dangerous, not happy. But anyway, the boys and cousin are now alone and there is no more family in Italy, so I claim custody of them. They live with me ever since.”

Alfred wants to reach towards the end of the table and offer their grandfather a comforting hug, but he instead just smiles apologetically. “Where’s their cousin?”

“Renato is in high school,” Lovino speaks up. He rolls his eyes. “Troublesome boy, always with new date every week. Often girls come to house and ask ‘Where is Renato?’ to which I say, ‘Renato not home, check library’ because I not enjoy dealing with his dates. He flirt and play too much, not like a real man.” He gives Feli a pointed look, but his younger brother bats his eyes as if he’s confused, garlic bread mid-raised to his mouth. “Feli flirt very much too, but he is not big problem like Renato.”

A deep chuckle rises in their grandfather’s throat. “And you, Lovino? You are not problem-causer with your flirting?”

Lovino’s cheeks tinge red and he growls, “Shush! I am in control of my actions.” His face contorts into an even more annoyed scowl when Alfred starts laughing in time with their grandfather. This time Lovino rounds on Alfred with the scowl, and after their grandfather translates the joking for Feli, he starts laughing as well. Now left with too many people to glare at, Lovino groans loudly and stuffs his face into his hands. Their grandfather winks and offers Alfred a high-five, which he eagerly returns.

Teasing Lovino is super fun. Alfred wraps an arm around his shoulders and rocks him back and forth. Everybody except Lovino laughs as said man starts a high-pitched whining about being manhandled so much. When he releases him, Alfred is shocked by how hot the skin where Lovino had been touching him is. He tries his best to ignore it.

It’s nothing.

* * *

 

As amazing life coincidences would have it, when Alfred asks Francis’ friend Antonio for somebody to teach him Italian, he hears a familiar name.

“You know Lovino already?” Antonio leans back from the Spanish study guide and looks expectantly at him. His eyes are wide with curiosity, and his leg bounces in place. “How? I mean, he’s not exactly friendly with everybody he meets. I’m only friends with him because my mother is friends with their grandfather, so I ended up hanging around with them a lot. Feli is easy to be friends with, he’s so light-hearted and everything. But Lovino?”

“I hear you.” Alfred twirls a pencil around his fingers and grins. “First thing he ever said to me was to watch my fucking mouth. I about lost my mind when I heard that, it was so funny. God, is he always that angry?”

“About everything,” confirms Antonio. “Usually he avoids your type. I’m surprised he talked to you at all.”

Alfred shrugs and taps the eraser end of the pencil on the table. “Well, it’s not like I went up to him and did my usual hello. Cap got away from me and from what I can gather, Lovino stopped the dog and brought him in the yard. I just happened to run by and I mentioned my dog ran away and, well…” He shrugs, setting the pencil down. “Ta-da.”

“Ta-da, huh?” Antonio smiles and shakes him head, leaning forward to rest an arm on the table. He examines Alfred for a few seconds, making him feel a bit self-conscious. Antonio is friendly and nice to everybody, but being under his gaze could make anybody nervous. He has a specific way of looking at somebody that makes them squirm and question their entire life. It reminds him of Arthur when he was a teenage rebel, though that was quite a while ago. Soon enough he closes his eyes, whistling lowly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.” Relief spreads through his veins at the end of the close examination, but the prompt of a question makes curiosity spark.

“What’s the date on your wrist again?”

A bit confused, Alfred replies, “July fourth, my twentieth birthday. Why?”

Antonio doesn’t reply, but there’s a knowing spark in his eyes when he looks down and points at the Spanish textbook. “Okay, we’re working on conversational skills, ¿ _ sí _ ? How do you ask somebody if they have a boyfriend?”

* * *

 

¿ _ Tienes un novio _ ?

_ Sí,  _ Alfred thinks. At least… he hopes he can say so by midnight tonight. His birthday, Independence Day, crept up on him and with his heart in his throat, he realizes he doesn’t have any time left. If he isn’t in love by midnight tonight, his chances are gone and he’ll never meet the person he’s meant to meet.

Then again, if the person he’s hoping is this person actually is this person, he’ll need to learn how to say this in yet another language and that’s so much work-

“Yo, stupid boy.” He almost jumps ten feet in the air when Lovino’s face appears in his field of view. He turns to fully face him, and Lovino looks less than impressed. “What, are you in the spacing out? You ask me by myself after your birthday and you stare at the dirt like I’m not here? Is this you version of American joke?”

Rapidly he shakes his head, even waving his hands to doubly emphasize. “No, not at all!” He puts on a grin and offers Lovino his hand. “Come with me. There’s a kickass spot in the park where my brothers and I are setting off fireworks for my birthday. I wanted you to come along.” His eyes stare at Alfred’s hand suspiciously, similar to how he eyed it in the bathroom when they first met. He doesn’t move to take it, and Alfred runs out of patience so he reaches forward and grabs his hand.

Their fingers lace together nicely, almost perfectly fitting into each other’s imperfections and Alfred swallows his heart back down into his chest. Sweaty palms? A thumping heart? What kind of heroic figure gets like this around a civilian? A weak-ass one. He doesn’t think of himself as a weak-ass hero, but when he sees the flustered shock coating Lovino’s cheeks, he throws that assumption out the window based solely on how weak his knees get. Lovino blushing isn’t anything new. Whenever he embarrasses him, accidentally or on purpose to get a rise out of him, red tints his face and every time before now it’s made Alfred laugh. This time, all it does is make his own face feel hot.

He turns to walk towards the park and laughs to release some tension. “Cmon! It won’t be my birthday for much longer. I wanna get there and hang out with you for a few hours until it’s all over! Can you run like this?” Picking up his pace to a jog, he refuses to look back and see how Lovino’s keeping up. Strangely he’s silent, not snapping to let go of his hand, so Alfred only assumes he’s fine back there and can in fact run like this. “Let’s go! Faster, faster, faster!”

The entire half-jog, half-run to the park, Lovino stays silent. He does squeeze Alfred’s hand gently, and it makes hope burn hot in his gut.

* * *

 

“You’ve never seen anything so gorgeous, huh?”

Alfred nods once, fixated on how the fireworks reflect in Lovino’s eyes. He’s never seen him smile so wide before and frankly it’s a good look for him. Angry is cute, but smiling with sparks flashing through his eyes is the best look for him in Alfred’s humble little opinion. He watches still as Matthew approaches Lovino and offers him the lighter to set off some fireworks himself. With great excitement does Lovino take it and kneel down next to the remaining fireworks.

“Sure is,” he mutters.

Francis laughs beside him and elbows him in the ribs gently. “I was speaking of the fireworks, Alfred, but I must admit you aren’t mistaken in what you’re referring to.”

“Wait- no, hey I was too! I was talking about the fireworks!” He laughs off the burning in his face, but under his older brother’s eye he knows he can’t pass what he just said as the truth. Still, ever so prideful, he sticks to the story and makes an X shape with his hands. “No way I was talking about anything except-”

“It’s about time for your date to expire, isn’t it?” Francis interrupts. His eyes fall to Alfred’s wrist, and defensively he hides it behind his back. “Now, come on. You don’t need to hide it from me. Arthur maybe, but not me.” He still feels a bit unsure, but he lets his arm fall out from behind his back.

Running a hand through his hair, Alfred takes notice of just how ruffled he is. He glances back at Lovino, and the feeling multiplies in his chest. He ends up running his hands through his hair several times until it’s completely disheveled, earning a smart remark from Francis about him going for a rugged good looks approach. “To what?” Alfred replies.

“To asking the Italian boy there to be your soulmate.”

“You- hey, wait.” He shakes his head. “You can’t ask people to be your soulmate, Francis. Isn’t it, like, an omniscient decision that we can’t control, hence the name? We don’t control our souls, so we don’t control our soulmates.”

“Observant,” hums Francis. He grabs Alfred’s elbow and pulls him a few feet to the side until they’re out of Arthur’s eyeshot. He eyes Arthur for a second, suspicious, before he looks back to Alfred. “You’re much more in tune with love than I thought, but there are some things you’re missing.”

“Like?”

“Like the fact that while you can’t choose a soulmate, you can’t force your soulmate either. It’s completely possible to meet and fall in love with them before the date passes,” Alfred absently thumbs his wrist at this, “but it’s impossible to force your soulmate to love you in that time frame. That’s the secret they don’t tell you when it comes to this stuff. Meeting them before the date isn’t the main point. It’s to fall in love with them before then.”

“So… what are you trying to tell me?” He has a sinking feeling he already knows, but he asks anyway.

“I’m saying you’re already in love with him, my boy. And if what I’ve seen tonight is any indication, he loves you as well.”

“... can I ask you for your opinion on an idea I had?”

Francis’ expression softens and he nods. “Anytime.”

Ten minutes before midnight, Alfred excuses himself from the crowd under the guise of going to the restroom. Instead of doing so, he ducks behind a nearby tree and switches on data for his phone. In a rush he opens the web browser and sets to work desperately googling. He goes through three websites and the auto translator before he feels confident enough with pronouncing his search. Before locking his phone, he glances at the time and bites his lip. Five minutes until midnight. Five minutes until his shot at love is gone. Fuck this arbitrary love assignment system. Lovino was right, this is stupid.

He rounds the tree only to almost run right into Lovino.

“Can I ask you something?” They both gape at each other, their words echoing each other. Alfred gestures for Lovino to go first, but Lovino then gestures for Alfred to speak instead. This goes on for a few more seconds before Lovino throws his hands up and smacks Alfred’s chest gently.

“Fuckin’ speak, why don’t ya? What I got to say is more important.”

“I doubt that,” mutters Alfred under his breath. He glances at his phone, and the time flashes back at him. Two minutes. It’s now or never, he supposes. He reviews what he looked up in his head and nods a few times to hype himself up. He’s gotta say it. If he doesn’t say it, this can’t ever happen again. Saying this is the most important thing ever, it’s what he’s been stressing about the past three months. The past three months… with Lovino. He stares right at him and puffs his chest up. That’s right. He’s spent the past three months talking to, laughing with, hanging out with, enjoying the company of, and… and falling for Lovino. This isn’t hard. This can’t be hard. It almost feels natural at this point, seeing Lovino everyday and being with him. He can do this! He absolutely can do this!

Before he can speak, Lovino groans loudly and grabs Alfred by the shirt collar. “It’s almost midnight, stupid boy,” he hisses. “If you do not, I go ahead.” Alfred can’t ask what he means by that because Lovino leans up on his tiptoes and kisses him square on the mouth.

It’s… strange. It’s warm, a bit wet but not unbearable, and his stomach does the flips he’s heard Francis talk about. It’s kind of uncomfortable, craning his neck down for Lovino, who without a doubt is equally uncomfortable stretching up to meet him. His lips are far too dry for Lovino to get any sort of satisfaction from, and the self-conscious thought makes him try to pull away. Lovino’s fists tighten in his collar and pull him even closer, so close that Alfred feels awkward leaving his hands dangling so he puts one on Lovino’s shoulder, the other on his hip. His glasses sit awkwardly on his nose from the sudden rush into the kiss, but it’s only a minor inconvenience.

As soon as Lovino releases his collar and pulls back to stare at him with flushed cheeks and kiss-bruised lips, it only just settles into his mind what he wanted to ask. He isn’t sure if midnight has come yet or not, but it doesn’t matter. Looking down at Lovino still stirs up the same feelings of delight and warmth so he figures he’s still on the mark.

The kiss stupefies him, so when Alfred tries to ask, “ _ Vuoi essere il mio ragazzo _ ?” it comes out sounding more like, “Vou-e es-sir-e ill me-oh rag-a-zoo?”

In the distance the clock tower begins to ring in the next day. On the twelfth stroke of midnight, Lovino manages to stop snickering and says a simple, “ _ Sì _ ,” before he jerks Alfred back down by his collar and kisses him again.

As soon as he shuts his eyes to focus on kissing back, Alfred swears he hears Arthur scoff, “Finally,” as Francis laughs.


End file.
